


Nature

by fansofcollisions



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood Drinking, M/M, Purgatory, gotta love it when your plot bunnies run away from you with gleeful abandon, yet another fic that was intended to be only a thousand words or so and spiralled out of control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-06
Updated: 2013-10-06
Packaged: 2017-12-28 15:49:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/993727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fansofcollisions/pseuds/fansofcollisions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A desperate bid to save a gravely injured Benny’s life sets off something in Cas he can’t explain. Things only get more complicated from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nature

Dean’s shouting something in his ear. Benny can just barely make out the words. They sputter through the fog in his mind, meanings coming to him in patches and clips.

_Fuck, man-_

_Hold it-_

_Cas, over-_ a rush of heat through his skull _– gotta get him – yeah, there._

Wetness soaks through his pants as he hits the ground, two pairs of hands guiding his shoulders. There’s something solid and rough behind his back. His sluggish brain supplies its label eventually: tree. It’s cold leaning against the wood and there’s something dripping down the back of his neck. Water or sap, or it might be sweat, or blood. He doesn’t rightly know. He’s not sure he knows much of anything, except that he’s probably dying. Sounds about right.

Even with an angel in their midst ten on three ain’t exactly a fair fight. Their luck was bound to run up eventually.

He laughs a little, the sound more a wheezing cough than anything. Through slitted eyes he can just barely see Dean’s pained grimace of a smile. It’s the only kind Dean seems to know these days.

“Glad you think this is funny, you fucker. We just had to haul your ass near two miles. That’s three slices of pie you owe me now.” Seated, Benny’s head begins to clear, enough that he can make out the veiled worry behind Dean’s joking tone. Hell, he’s a little scared too. Folks don’t tend to get major arteries ripped from their shins by rotted fangs and live to tell the tale.

A pair of hands is on his leg, prodding at the wound. _Castiel. Slender fingers. Steady._ A rip, and then the hands are winding a strip of filthy cloth just below the knee.

Benny’s father, his human father, was a soldier. He can just hear his old man’s voice, horrified. Infection, rot, disease. No son of his would ever lose a limb to gangrene, not while he was alive. He doesn’t think his father could have envisioned his son lost in a world more primitive, more ghastly than the trenches. Lucky for him.

Dean passes Castiel a stick and the angel passes it through the bandage, then twists and twists and twists till it bites into the skin like the coil of a snake. They’ve all become pretty good at makeshift tourniquets. Who knows how many more strips their clothing can lose before they’re all as naked as the day they were born, clambering over the grass and the leaves: a gang of infantile hoodlums, the horror of all modest and respectable monsters. It’s an interesting picture.

He laughs a little more at the thought. Blood froths in his mouth.

“You’re gonna be just fine, alright? We’ll get you fixed right up. Bastards messed with the wrong people. We sure showed them, eh? We-“

“Dean. Stop.” Castiel’s murmur chokes off Dean’s words. Benny’s grateful for the silence. Everything makes his head pound.

He’s going to die. The angel knows it, he knows it. Dean knows it too, though he’ll fight till the last breath not to admit the truth. He’s stubborn like that.

And he was so close. So unbearably close, he could taste the sweet topside air. The thought hurts more than the burn of torn flesh, though even that’s starting to fade into the mist.

And what will Dean do now, when he’s gone? Will he and his angel wander forever in the wildness, desperate and afraid, clinging to each other and the insincere hope that somewhere, _somewhere_ the portal exists, that they didn’t need Benny after all, that they can still go home.

They’ll go mad before they find it.

The worst part is, Benny knows the solution. He knows how to save his hide. And he knows that if he does it, the only thing that will bring him back, Dean will be dead. Which means that Benny will be dead, because Cas will kill him without a shred of remorse, and then they’re back where they started, which is nowhere at all.

A stupid thought, a less than worthless solution. Not even worth considering.

The words start fading out again. Phrases like _I don’t know_  and _we’ve gotta try something_ and _he’s not going to_ die _, dammit_ and _Dean_ and _Dean_ and _DEAN_. The crack of a human voice and urgent whispers of an angel’s mingle in a dance of sparks and blackness. Their cadence swirls new patterns in his vision, rends a collapsing design of misfiring neurons and light. He’s not sure if Dean’s distress is for the loss of a comrade or the loss of freedom’s hope, or both. It shouldn’t really matter to him, he supposes.

“Benny!” The slap startles him out of his stupor, clearing his eyes momentarily. Dean’s face is close. His hands grip Benny’s neck, fingers digging into the spaces between the tendons. “Benny, stay with us, alright? I’m not-“ Dean looks down, licks his lips. “I don’t know how to fix this. So you’ve gotta tell me. You’ve been hurt worse than this before and bounced back so I need to know _how_. How do we save you?”

“Can’t…” Benny croaks. The end of his sentence is swallowed by a coughing fit.

“Bullshit,” Dean says, a small tremor running through his voice. “That’s bullshit, there’s a way.”

“Can’t-“ Benny tries again. “Can’t risk it.”

“Dean,” Castiel warns quietly. _Dean, Dean_. Like a skipping record. Does the damn fool know any other word? He’s almost sad he’ll never get a chance to sock him in the jaw for being such an annoyance. Still, you can always count on Cas to keep a level head, to do what needs to be done to keep Dean calm and focused.  In that, at least, he’s endeared himself to Benny.

He blinks up at their blurry faces and something like fondness creeps into his voice. He’s about to die, he’s allowed to go soft, right? Only for a moment. “Might even miss you two, you know that? When you aren’t being a pain in my ass, you’re not half bad company.” His body shakes. It takes a few moments for him to register that it’s the hands on his shoulders causing the movement.

“What the hell do we have to do?” Dean shouts, vibrating with anger and nerves and fear. The blood rushes beneath his skin, the only warmth in a sea of ice. Its pace quickens and Benny’s eyes involuntarily flick to Dean’s throat. Helpless, he feels his teeth begin to slide past his gums.

Dean’s breath catches. “You need to feed,” he murmurs. His pulse quickens. Benny shudders and turns his eyes away.

“Lost a lot of blood. Need to get it back from somewhere.”

“Fucking ch- why didn’t you just say that? Me and Cas’ll go catch something and bring it right back, we’ll fix you up good as new.” The brightness, the hysterical relief in Dean’s eyes makes Benny’s chest clench.

“Ain’t nothing for miles. That pack scared the other wildlife off and you know it.” He wants to apologize, for all the good it will do, but the words get muddled in the cotton filling his mouth. He does his best imitation of a shrug, rippling tired muscles beneath his skin. “It’s over.” Dean growls.

“Like hell it is.” He stands and paces, a wild animal in his own right, nervous and pacing, sure of foot even on the wet ground. Castiel watches him. He’s always watching Dean. Another annoyance. Another blessing.

Time passes. Benny breathes in, out, in, out. Coughs. Drifts.

And suddenly, Castiel isn’t watching. He’s tearing the trenchcoat from his back. Benny’s vision shutters once, twice, and then the white shirt is gone, discarded in damp leaves and acidic dew. Dean’s stopped pacing.

“Cas, what-“ he chokes out.

“My blood replenishes, and physically I’m far stronger than you. There’s a much better chance I’ll survive.”

“You’re not doing this.”

“I need to.”

“No way. No way, man…”

“Dean.” The name crashes through the air. Finality. Focus. Benny thinks of Pavlov, and dogs. Dean is silent. “You said we’d both make it back out, no matter what it takes. If he dies, we will also die. There’s no time for discussion. If you meant what you said, _keep your promise_. Get us back. Let me do this.”

“… I’ll stop him. If you can’t. I’ll pull him off if it’s too far.” There’s no discussion of Benny stopping himself. He knows as well as they do you don’t just stop, not when you’re this far gone. It never just stops. If this was a thirst on earth, it’s an unquenchable fire here. He’ll drink till Castiel is a dry husk, dryer than the dirt beneath his feet, and he’ll tear apart his body for anything that’s left. If Dean fails, it’s all over.

Castiel leans closer, offering his neck, and without pause what makes Benny himself retreats to the recesses of his consciousness. His body moves forward without his mind’s consent. He’s an animal, he’s instinct, he’s hunger and need, and the angel stopped being an angel the moment he offered himself as willing prey. There’s no creature before him. There’s only salvation. There’s only relief.

Benny can’t hear the rush of Castiel’s blood. His skin is cold and empty, silent steel. He resonates with electricity and grace, holiness seeping from every pore not clogged with filth and sweat. Benny hears ringing and Dean’s intake of breath and wind raging and howls in the distance, and he aches all over with the noise. Arms with no mobility, frozen solid, break forward to grasp at tense shoulders and he drags the thing before him down, bares his fangs.

He sinks his teeth in and tastes his first few drops of angel blood.

Something bursts.

\------------------

Benny pulls Cas down and Dean’s fists clench by his sides. He fights every instinct from a lifetime of _kill, slaughter, defend_ to not tear Benny’s arms from his friend’s back and slice him in two. He stays still, because he has to, because otherwise this is all for nothing.

The fangs sink in, a flash of white teeth and bloodied gums. And then everything changes.

Benny’s whole body spasms, lunging forward off the tree into Cas and pinning him to the ground. Dean’s body mimics the movement unconsciously. He calls out a name, he’s not sure which, but it makes no difference. Benny doesn’t hear him. Benny’s eyes are blown open in ecstasy. Benny’s body is huge and taught and welded into Cas. Benny’s gone, and something more primal has taken his place.

Castiel whines, a low sound, more of discomfort than panic or fear. His skin pales as he presses hands against Benny’s shoulders, an ingrained prerogative to bodily freedom fused into his vessel’s muscles, battling his mind’s will.

Dean thinks he can hear the sound of the blood draining from Cas’s body, a sick gurgle of hot liquid sucked clean from torn skin, a stream flowing hot to the mouth of a ravenous gorge. Already Benny’s pallor is improving but with each mouthful he drains his movement grows more urgent, a desperate rutting into soil and dirty cloth and hard lines that Dean does his best to convince himself is anything but the obvious. And now Cas’s hands press less insistently, their knuckles whitening and flexing and shaking and expiring, falling limp to the ground.

It may only have been minutes, maybe less, but Dean’s resolve is gone and with a shout he barrels forward, putting all his momentum into knocking Benny off Cas’s shaking form. He doesn’t quite manage it, though he does tip the balance just enough that the grip on one bare arm is loosened. He uses the advantage to drag the vampire over the edge, tipping him into the leaves. Benny’s mouth comes away from his prey’s neck with a squelching rip, skin and gore hanging from his lips.  Dean’s stomach heaves as his eyes flick to Cas’s prone body and register the mangled mess that barely resembles a neck, a chest splattered with arterial spray and saliva, a chest that’s heaving. Alive.

He barely has a moment to feel relief at the realization before an unstoppable weight is whipping him to the side, pressing him down into the bed of leaves. He feels heat and breath on his neck and he closes his eyes and waits, and prays. Panting, and breath from all sides, and just the slightest tremble of movement from the body above him, the smallest rock of hips, a stuttered word.

“Dean…”

The weight is gone. He opens his eyes to see Benny presses against the tree, crouched low, running the back of his hand against his mouth over and over again and spitting and cursing and gripping the oak so tightly with his other hand the bark tears under his fingertips. The animal’s in hiding.

He returns his attention to Cas. Already the wounds on his neck have begun to close, sinew stitching itself into unblemished matter, all traces of the attack soon disappeared save the red stains peppered across his jaw. Dean reaches over a hand to grasp at his friend’s arm. Castiel’s fingertips brush the skin of his wrist. Their chill sends tremors through his body.

“You alright, buddy?” he asks in barely more than a whisper. Something in him is afraid the animal heaving against the tree will resurface if he speaks too loudly.

After a moment, Cas pushes himself off the ground into a sitting position. Although all physical evidence of what just occurred has disappeared- even his skin beginning to regain its colour- he still pants and shakes. “Yes, I-“ he stutters off, glancing down the length of his body and then looking away from Dean. The last of the pigment returns to his cheeks, and he’s whole again.

Satisfied, Dean warily returns his gaze to Benny. He seems to have calmed himself somewhat, at least enough to look remorseful. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I couldn’t-“

“I know,” says Dean. “It’s alright.” And it is, because they’re all still alive, and that has to be enough. That’s all they’re going to get. Alright means they make it another day. It’s enough.

He doesn’t look at Cas. He doesn’t think about Benny’s ragged breathing. He picks himself up off the ground and holds out his hand blindly.

It’s enough.

\------------------

They don’t talk about it.

It’s fair say to they don’t talk about much of anything. There’s not really much time, what with running and fighting and collapsing into exhausted heaps on the ground whenever there’s a short lull in activity, enough to catch the few precious hours of sleep Dean needs to function. It’s strange, how much of Cas and Benny’s lives are now spent entirely devoted to keeping Dean alive. The common purpose almost makes them ‘kindred spirits’, for lack of a more apt phrase, though Castiel still gets the impression that Benny is one sarcastic quip short of leaving him to drown in the next river.

That’s all the talk they really get. Sniping between all parties, running the gauntlet between aggravated and affectionate, more exercises to keep their wits sharp than real attempts at communication. Nobody has the energy for conversation.

And yet, Castiel wants to talk about it. He knows Dean doesn’t want to, because Dean doesn’t like acknowledging anything that wounds him, and it seems the thought of Cas in pain is a special brand of knife in the gut for Dean. He’s lost all hope of understanding why.

It isn’t fear that keeps the incident on his mind. The moment he realized he’d lost the strength to fight back, he knew that Dean would stop it before Benny could kill him. And besides, the thought of his own death doesn’t concern him. In fact, it brings a certain sort of relief, the idea that all penance might finally be paid.

It’s the experience itself that he can’t help but revisit. The sensation of his very essence being drained away, and with each drop taken, it seemed a layer had been stripped from his core. He felt weakness, and vulnerability, and even perhaps a moment of panic. None of this is entirely new, of course. The memory of Alistair’s hands tearing into his vessel, the mute horror of leviathan oozing their way within his skull still lingers. He’s felt trapped, defenseless, but it’s never been like that. It’s like every emotion had been amplified, reverberated between metal plates and sent howling back into his mind. He should have had the strength to push Benny off without Dean’s help. Instead he found himself overwhelmed with reactions he’s never felt, at least not in anything but the dullest sense. He was weak. For a moment, he thinks perhaps he was almost _human_. And the strangest part is, he’s not sure he didn’t enjoy that feeling.

He wants to talk to Dean about it. Dean’s human. He might be able to help Cas sort through the experience, parse his emotions into compartmentalized pieces to be buried deep and never spoken of, never thought of until they’re free of this place. Make him realize why a moment of weakness might feel like the best relief he’s had in years. Why he’d never realized that to be something _other_ might dismiss the guilt for just one moment, might be a chance to catch a breath without shame for stealing the air he doesn’t deserve.

Maybe help him understand why the memory of a giant weight, a solid mass of muscle pressing down upon him causes his body to tense and his breath to stutter and his cock to swell in a way he can’t find time nor sufficient courage to take care of in the way he knows he should, the way to stop its constant discomfort late at night, when he’s alone, or as alone as he can be with so many thoughts and worries to prod at his mind.

 The one time he tries to broach the subject, Dean mutters something about it never happening again and takes off to scout, and Castiel is more confused than ever. Maybe the incident disturbed Dean just as much as it did him.

The thoughts won’t leave his mind. He revisits the night over and over and his confusion just grows stronger, as does a desire to maybe feel that way again, just once. Just once, if only for clarity. For understanding. It’s a rational decision.

They don’t talk about it.

Which means, of course, there’s nothing left but to _do_.

\------------------

Benny’s sitting vigil over a slumbering Dean, facing out into the shadows and twirling his knife between his fingers, when he feels the brush of a trenchcoat against his arm.

“Where’ve you been hiding?” he asks, still facing forward. The angel had disappeared the moment Dean’s breathing slowed. Not that that’s much of anything new. They’ve got an unspoken pact of mutual avoidance going on between them, and he likes that just fine.

“I was… contemplating.” Silence. Benny runs his thumb down the length of the blade, finger coming away red with flakes of dried blood, and waits for Castiel to wing off again. He doesn’t.

“You wanna contemplate yourself onto the ground then? I feel like my ma’s about to whack me over the head with a spoon for not offering you a chair.”

After a moment he feels a body settle itself by his side, keeping a respectful- if still a little too close for his liking- distance. Benny glances over and sees Castiel hunched over in the dimness, worrying his hands. It’s an odd gesture on the angel: a little too human.

“Any reason you’re suddenly making social calls?” Benny asks when it becomes clear that he won’t speak without prompting.

“We need to talk.” The words are crisp, like a sergeant issuing an order. (His father would have liked Castiel. He’s got the air of a soldier about him and no mistake.) Benny bristles at the tone, until he looks at his companion and sees he’s searching the darkness with lost eyes, hunting for an excuse, some reason not to continue this conversation.

 “What about?”

“A week ago.”

“… Oh.”

“Yes.”

“Look, I know apologies don’t really cut it-“

“It wasn’t what I expected,” Castiel interrupts.

“What, having your throat torn out?” Benny laughs incredulously. “Hate to burst your bubble, but that’s not going to be a fun experience for anybody.”

Castiel glares at him. He never quite seemed to grasp the notion of humour lightening a heavy subject. “That’s not what I mean.”

“No time like the present to spit it out then.”

Castiel pauses to flick a pebble across the ground, gather his thoughts. “I should have been able to push you off.”

“Look, you don’t just-“

“I _should have_ ,” he says urgently, like he’s imparting some grand secret. “And I couldn’t. It wasn’t right.”

What’s he supposed to say to that? Yeah, something crazy went down, he’s not denying it. That wasn’t any normal reaction, not even for him. His cheeks flush slightly at the memory, fading recollections of ecstasy and fire burning his throat and friction. But how’s he meant to explain it to some celestial creature whose presence the very dirt seems to offend? He can’t bring himself to speak on it. So he talks, because it’s his place to, but each new word out of his mouth is a surprise to him.

“I was never a religious sort of man.” Castiel glances up at him, puzzled by the sudden shift in conversation. “I went to church every Sunday as a kid and didn’t believe a word of what the preacher said. Thought it was all sanctimonious nonsense and metaphors. Then one day I’m dragged into some dark alley and this man- or half of one- is sinking his teeth into my neck, and suddenly I’m craving my steak _extra_ rare, if you catch my meaning. It changes a man’s perspective, you know? God didn’t seem quite so crazy after that.

“I’ve seen all manner of creatures down here, shapeshifters and ghouls and every thing that ever wanted after human flesh. Hell, I’ve fed on pretty much everything too. But even after all that, when I heard rumour there was an _angel_ wandering ‘round? I didn’t believe it. Angels aren’t _real_. Angels are some lunatic’s fever dream. Imagine my surprise then when I meet the human I’d been searching for and he believes in this angel like mad, and soon enough I start believing maybe that isn’t so crazy either.”

Benny takes a breath. He was never much of a talker, even when he was alive, and the words are misused, hard to find. “I lost control when I fed on you, and not in the usual way. There’s something in your blood… whatever it is, it did something to me. Sounds like losing it did something to you too. And I ain’t got one experience to back up what I’m feeling, except that I think maybe angels are different from any monster I’ve ever laid eyes on. Maybe that explains it.” He shrugs, feeling like he’s explained nothing at all.

“Are angels monsters, then?” Castiel asks. Benny glances at him, expecting a face drawn tight in offense, but Castiel is avoiding his gaze.

“I wouldn’t rightly know.”

“Sometimes, I think…” Castiel trails off. Benny reckons he knows how the sentence ends.

There’s a rustling in the trees. Benny grips his knife tighter. His eyes flick to Dean instinctively, meeting Castiel’s halfway there. Seems they’ve still both got their priorities straight. That’s encouraging.

“Do you like being a monster?”

Benny can’t help but laugh, taken aback by the flat seriousness of the query. “What kind of question is that? Course not.”

“…Neither do I.”

Benny only has a moment to ponder that before Castiel shrugs the trenchcoat off his shoulders and goes for his shirt. “Woah there, what-“

“I didn’t explain myself properly. When you fed on me, I didn’t feel like an angel. For reasons you would not understand, I think I’d rather not feel like one ever again.” Benny can only suck in breath, astonished, as Castiel pulls himself over his body, straddling his legs with only an inch of air between them.

“Now hold on a second. I think we’ve been having very different conversations here, friend…”

“We’re both much stronger tonight than we were the last time. You’re not half-dead and I’m not exhausted from a battle. It shouldn’t be an issue for one of us to stop it before it goes too far.”

“Jesus, what’s gotten into you,” Benny hisses, suddenly conscious of Dean asleep only a few metres away as he drops his knife and pushes at Castiel’s bare shoulders, trying to dislodge him. He’s solid against the force and Benny thinks that yes, the angel could probably manage to stop him this time, but that’s nowhere near enough reason to make this a good idea. “Get off!”

“You’re starving. I’m offering you a free meal. I don’t understand why you’re being so stubborn.”

“Because I’ve got God’s little messenger sitting in my lap begging me to tear open his throat and suck him dry. That doesn’t sound _off_ to you?” The worst part is that Benny wants to. He really, _really_ wants to. Dean was always unbearable enough, pounding blood mixed with adrenaline and euphoric violence making it damn near impossible not to jump him every chance he got, at least near the beginning. But Castiel was shielded somehow, like whatever made his angelic voodoo tick had silenced his scent (not that it managed to keep the leviathan away). But now that he’s tasted him, it’s all he can hear. A metallic ringing in his ears melded with the sound of blood. Even now, with Castiel’s exposed throat focused in his eye line, the sound sings to him-

He needs to get him off. _Now_.

“We’re not doing this,” Benny insists, doing his best to keep his eyes front and centre, focused on Castiel’s face so he can’t see his throat. One more crack splinters in Castiel’s expression, his stoicism crumbling to something more exposed. 

“I trust you,” he says, like he expects a line like that to change Benny’s mind. It’s bullshit and both of them know it. But there’s a look in Castiel’s eyes now, a haunted desperation that reminds Benny of the absinthe addicts strung out across the docks of New Orleans: ghosts of his youth, always pawing the air for the next bottle. He isn’t looking for answers. He’s looking for a fix.

“You’re really trying my resolve here,” he growls, trying again to push his captor off. The singing is becoming unbearable. He tastes bile in his throat at the effort keeping his fangs retracted and it seems that every moment the angel leans closer, his bare skin just barely gleaming in the false moonlight, glistening with the promise of reprieve. He knows it will only be moments before he’s gone-

But this time Castiel goes, rolling without resistance off his body. The relief is palpable, but it aches with the bitter loss of the blood he could almost taste in his mouth. He doesn’t look to his side, too afraid his control with disintegrate with the sight of so much flesh still laid out before him.

With the tension slightly alleviated, the anger begins to set in. This was too close to disaster. Christ, this idiot was going to be the death of them… Benny pushes himself to his feet, more than prepared to walk himself straight out of camp and leave his charges to fend for themselves tonight. Let the dogs get them for all he cares.

“Wait, I’m-“ Before he quite manages to get his balance a hand reaches out and grabs his sleeve, pulling with enough force to send him toppling back down, this time on top of a warm body. Blue eyes matching his, dilated, mouth open and red with inlaid vessels and only centimetres from his and heat and movement and _noise_. His fangs are out before he can even register what’s happened and they’re ripping into the soft flesh below and-

\------------------

The moment the teeth slide into his neck Castiel knows this was a mistake, and just like every other godforsaken decision he’s ever made it’s going to end as badly as could be conceived. A hundred looks of disappointment, of rage, of fear, of hurt flash across an imagined Dean’s face and Cas knows that if he doesn’t manage to stop this in time, he’ll be the cause of every single one. Just like always, someone else will pay the price his own selfishness and stupidity. The familiar loathing curls deep within his essence. Except…

A feeling sparks at the end of his fingertips. And again. He detaches himself for a moment to isolate the sensation from the burning pain in his neck, the heavy weight across his chest. It’s new, strange. He lets the feeling travel through him, roll down through his body and scour every inch in electricity. There’s something pounding within him. It must be his heart, though he’s never been so cognizant of it before.

There’s something like ice water trickling down through his veins, a path of tiny lines forking down from his shoulder and spreading chill through his muscles, but somehow everything still feels too hot. Urgent.

Castiel’s gasp punctures the air as Benny presses in harder, as though he’s trying to encompass every inch of his prey, take in every part of him, make them one body. Pressure downwards, like gravity, and he feels himself harden.

It’s nothing like the arousal in that motel room so long ago, a passive response to visual stimuli that barely felt like anything, except mild discomfort and embarrassment at Dean’s words. He’d felt detached from the organ, just a reminder of another unruly human function which would have to be endured. A ghostly limb, not truly a part of him- just like all of this body he inhabits- and not worthy of his attention past the immediate concern.

He feels connected, now. In Purgatory there’s no flight, there’s no wave pattern or resonant spheres or signal to guide him home. Here, he and his body are one truth, no shredding able to separate the two, and everything is _his_. Every gasp and spark and unbearably good ache as Benny crowds in closer, closer and he presses back, and the movement doesn’t feel shameful. It’s not soured by guilt or embarrassment. It’s natural, it’s what these bodies are meant for, and Cas is his body, his body is his, and _oh._

For a moment, he’s carried away. He’s nothing he’s programmed for. Vulnerable, exposed, _wanting_. The feeling thrills him. If he’s a piss-poor excuse for an angel, then maybe that’s never what he was supposed to be. Maybe he was meant for this. The heavy grind of one body against another, catch and release and soft moans and grunts and no end in sight. He’s wrong and he’s dirty and he’s right to be that way. He thinks he was never meant to be an angel, pure and steadfast, and that’s the sweetest relief he can imagine. His vision swims, and his mind floats, and he’s lost.

It’s hard to tell who breaks it. Maybe Benny drinks enough to be sated, enough that some of his humanity returns, or maybe Cas’s body does what his mind cannot bear to do and recognizes he’s near his limit and lashes out.

After a few moments Cas realizes it’s neither. A hoarse whisper from the darkness, “Cas?” and he knows what brought them out. Always Dean, pulling him back to the present. “Benny? Guys, where-“

Cas can see, even in the darkness, the wildness in Benny’s eyes as he pushes himself up off the ground. He shoots Cas a manic look, and there’s horror there, and shame. He takes off into the woods before Cas can reach out a hand to him. Get his hand to stop shaking enough to lift it. His whole body aches, and even the pleasant edge of that ache is so intense to be painful. He rolls onto his stomach and fixes his eyes on Dean, who’s blinking blearily, searching the night for the disturbance which woke him.

Maybe it’s dark enough he won’t notice the blood.

Cas pulls himself up against a tree and calls back. “Dean, I’m here.” The flesh of his throat has already knit itself back together. His voice still sounds torn.

“Where?”  Dean comes stumbling towards him. Cas tries to quiet his breathing. “Oh, there.” Dean drops down beside him, settling his own back against the tree. Too close.

It’s both a mercy and a curse he’s still shirtless. On one hand, any flecks of blood on his pants are easily lost in the countless remnants of past battles. On the other hand…

“Dude, why the sudden switch to _skins_? Always pegged you as more of a _shirts_ type of guy.” He doesn’t have a good response, so he doesn’t answer. His cock still lies heavy between his legs. There’s pressure behind his eyes and there’s the shame returning. There’s that familiar burning, that ever present reminder that everything he does goes to shit. _Fuck_.

“You ok? I thought I heard, I don’t know… You’re not hurt, are you? Not hiding any injuries from me?” Dean places his hand on Cas’s thigh, a little higher than he might have if he had night vision. It’s a gesture no doubt intended to be very platonically comforting, and Cas can’t hold in his moan. The ache intensifies, his cock jumping at the sudden proximity of warmth. Dean snatches his hand back as if burned. Maybe he can feel the heat too.

“Oh. Um.” Dean’s cheeks are flushing. More heat. Castiel hates the cold that surrounds him, hates the ever present chill in a body that shouldn’t feel it, but a lot’s changed lately. “Right. That would explain- um. Ok, I’ll leave you. To that. Yeah.” He laughs a high laugh, and Cas feels Dean’s embarrassment become his own, and he hates that too.

Dean is leaving. The only warmth in his world is leaving and can’t think for a moment, it’s all too much, this guilt and detachment and _cold_. He grabs Dean’s hair and pulls him in and kisses him.

_There_. It’s the same burning, the same intensity, but there are no rivers of ice spreading through his body. He bites at Dean’s lip and he thinks he might burst if he doesn’t get some relief soon but it’s alright, it’s alright because this is right. This is what he’s made for.

It’s only the insistent press of hands against his shoulders that halts him, breaks him out of his insanity once again.

“Cas…” Dean whispers. His voice sounds crushed. He clears his throat before carrying on. “Cas, what’s going on?”

Cas finds that he’s kneeling now, and so is Dean, with one thigh between Cas’s own, and he can feel Dean’s heat roll of him.  

“Dean, please…” he begs, because he _needs this_. He can’t go another second with a body against his, without Dean’s mouth pressed to his. The whole world is spinning and maybe it’s still the blood loss but he feels out of control and his whole body is enthralled with Dean, and Dean’s eyes, and Dean’s lips, and Dean’s ragged breath.

“I…” An exhale, and then Dean leans forward, his exhale warm against Cas’s cheek, and yet Cas still shivers. “Ok. Ok, Cas. Let’s…”

He doesn’t need more permission than that. He leans forward and kisses him as chastely as he can, though it’s only moments before that control dissipates and he’s pressing as insistently as Benny ever did, though more gently. He knows how breakable human bones are. 

He lusts for fragility. He aches to shatter.

Dean lets him navigate them downwards. Castiel brushes his fingers over Dean’s forehead and no mystical healing comes from them, no angelic comfort, and yet Dean sighs against his palm and looks at him in wonder and Cas knows his touch still holds power. It’s all his, him and his body, no divine gift or remnant of a Father long flown. It’s his essence, and the way he can make Dean feel, the way Dean should be _made_ to feel, and Cas wonders why humans don’t exercise this magic every moment of the day, why Dean should have gone so long without it. Why he should ever do so again.

He lowers himself down so their hips are slotted and he presses a prayer to Dean’s lips. He rolls his hips forward and swallows the gasped reply.

He’s made for this, as Benny is, as Dean is. He feels no shame.

\------------------

There’s something comforting in the rush of water. Maybe it comes from growing up along the Gulf but Benny always feels most calm when he can hear the burble of water rushing against stone. So it’s no great surprise that when he finds himself tripping into a nearby river in the middle of the night and falling against the bank, exhausted and strung out and shaking, he’s got no motivation to move. Muscles spasm involuntarily but other than that he remains perfectly still, and listens to the water, and waits for his breathing to slow, and his body to stop screaming at him to finish what he started.

He wanders back into camp when the sun’s just beginning to top the trees, flooding the world with the same sickly gray light as every morning before, every morning to his memory. He’s not sure whether he expects to find them both gone or Dean lying in wait over the mangled corpse of his friend to kill his murderer. He doesn’t know if Castiel is alive or not. Would be the fool’s own fault if he wasn’t, but the thought brings him no comfort.

 What he doesn’t expect is to see a cheery grin on Dean’s face, a veritable cat who got the cream, greeting him as he stumbles in. “Where’ve you been hiding?” Dean asks, a jarring echo of last night’s exchange, and Benny is so, so confused.  He glances around for Castiel and finds him crouching on the ground, examining some animal’s tracks. His shirt is back on, though considerably dirtier than before after a night in the mud.

Benny looks, and he’s terrified to find he wants him still.

Sometimes he forgets that the only hunger in this body isn’t just that for blood. He’s still got some humanity after all’s said and done, and whatever carnal part of him still remains remembers clearly what the fog of bloodlust has blurred in his mind from last night, the pleasure of a body against his. He practically salivates looking at him and he hates Castiel for awakening that part of him again, that he’d spent so many years tamping down out of necessity in a land where the only women would like just as much to bite your dick off as ride it.

“I thought we’d head towards that outcropping we spotted a few miles back since this path seems to be taking us the scenic route to nowhere. That good with you?”

Castiel is definitely avoiding his gaze. Which is good, because Benny can’t seem to stop looking at him and that could get awkward real fast.

“Earth to Benny? You in there somewhere?” Dean claps Benny on the shoulder and he breaks his gaze away and turns it to Dean.

Dean, who’s standing far too close, who was always too beautiful to begin with, what with being the first human Benny’s laid eyes on in decades. Dean, who’s strong and savage and still somehow tender when he speaks of Sam, who masked desperate prayers in darkness to an angel only he believed in. Dean, who Benny knows will leave him at journey’s end, and the thought shouldn’t tear him up inside  but it does, because they’re _something_ , him and Dean. They’re something, after endless fucking years of nothing, and he’s only beginning to realize what it will do to him to let that go.

He thinks of Andrea, and how her memory’s been swallowed up by years of misery and dusk. He wonders what she’d think of him if she knew he’d met a man with a spirit as fierce as hers, and that he thinks he might like to hold his face in his hands as gently as he ever held his sea nymph, and have an end to the violence for only a moment.

He doesn’t reach out to touch Dean’s jaw. He doesn’t kiss him, or make some grand declaration, or do any of a hundred insane things his mind suggests. He turns away from them both, from the angel who’s awoken his lust and the human who may have awoken something deeper than that. He thinks, _another day, this will all pass_.

It’s a foolish thought. It doesn’t pass. It doesn’t go away. It’s a week later and Benny finds he can’t even bear to be near the pair. He takes off at night to ‘guard’ and walks deep into the woods and tries to find quiet and resolve.

He sees Dean and he wants to protect. He sees Castiel and he wants to devour. And every time one looks at the other with that look that says they know, and they care, and they forgive, and they understand, Benny wants to tear into something new. Because it’s Dean and Cas, and that’s the end of it. Benny and Castiel were a temporary balm for a confused creature’s psyche. Benny and Dean never had a chance the moment they found the angel crouched by the riverbed. And he doesn’t even entertain the thought of the three of them, because what’s he got to contribute? It’s Dean and Cas. They have all they’ll ever need in each other.

Except a way out, of course. But once he’s played that card, what then? He’s got no more chips to bargain with. And he’s got no more strength to hold out. Something’s gotta break, it might as well be him.

He was never going to be much good topside anyway.

\------------------

 “What the hell do you mean, you’re leaving?”

“End of the road, is what I’m saying. Sorry, but this just isn’t workin’ out for me.”

“Two weeks ago we were fucking golden!”

Dean’s shaking with fury. He’s got Benny pinned against a tree, knife dangerously close to the skin of his neck. He feels like he’s collapsing from the inside out.  

Castiel watches from the side. Benny’s eyes flicker to him for a moment before he shoves Dean roughly off. “You wanna point that thing somewhere else?”

“I’m not letting you walk away, not now.” They’re so close, he can feel it. The air’s cleaner here, the ground fragrant of things other than decay. They’re almost out, and everything’s falling apart.

“What’re you gonna do, chop off my head? I won’t be much use to you in that state.” His tone shifts to something more soothing, “Dean, there was never much hope anyways.” Dean scoffs. “If you’re meant to make it out, you’ll make it.” He laughs, and there’s something shining bright with honesty in his eyes. “If anyone could beat this place, it’d be you.”

“Don’t you dare walk out on us.”

“I ain’t your father, I’ve got no obligation to you,” Benny grunts, and Dean feels like he’s been slapped.

Anger battles desperation and he knows which side will leave him pride and which will mean his death. And if it was only his own hide to worry about, pride might have won out, but it’s not just his. It’s the fate of the quiet observer who’s not said a word for the whole shouted conversation, just watched with this frozen look like he’s been caught in headlights, like he knows something he shouldn’t. Dean has a mind to go question him about that once the immediate crisis is past but for the moment, it’s live or die and he’s too stubborn to choose the latter, pride be damned.

“Look, I don’t know what I’ve gotta say to get through to you here, but me and Cas, we need you.” Now it’s Benny’s turn to scoff. “You’ve done more than you’re obligated to, I get that, and I appreciate it, but I need you to stick it out just a little longer, ok?”

“And what in God’s good name would be my reason to do that,” Benny sneers, and Dean throws it all to the winds because these two weeks have been the type for strange revelations, so why stop now? Why not even utter the ones that surprise his own lips?

“Because you’ve been like a brother to me, Benny, and I kind of got the impression you felt the same. We’re- We’ve got it going steady, the three of us. We’re a team. It sucks going it alone, trust me, I know. Why would you want to give that up?”

Benny doesn’t say anything, doesn’t take a step towards him, but he’s not taken another step away either, which Dean counts as something encouraging. At least encouraging enough to steady his breath as he waits for a response.

To his surprise, it’s Cas who breaks the silence first. “Stay,” he says, and it’s more a question than an order. Benny looks at him then, and Dean is taken aback by how Benny’s stare so quickly slides from something considering to almost venomous.

“You find yourself another dealer for your fix, _angel_.” He spits the word like a curse. “There’s plenty of other things around here more than happy to oblige you, I’m sure. I’m done.”

Cas, for his part, looks wounded. Dean is just confused. “Someone want to explain what’s going on here to me?”

“Doesn’t matter, Dean. I’ll be gone and you won’t have to worry your pretty little head about it.”

“It matters,” Dean says, and steps forward to close the gap between them. “This matters.” _We matter_.  “Now, whatever the hell you two have going on, we can work that out. We-“

Benny’s laugh interrupts the sentence before it can trail off. “What we have _going on_? Don’t think there’s anything to work out there. If you haven’t come crawling to me, it means you’ve found somewhere else to get it, and I can only think of one place.” He looks back to Dean. “Tell me, has your friend asked you to tear him apart yet? Does he make you hold him down in the dirt?” He grins, but his eyes are steel and his voice bitter. “Do you enjoy it?”

“Fuck you,” Dean says. He’s trembling and he doesn’t know why. Of course, he objectively knew this whole time Benny must have been aware of what went down between him and Cas, what’d gone down once more since then, as he’d given the camp a wide berth each night. But to be thrown down for things he himself still finds hard to justify in the light of day-

And then his brain catches up to the rest of what Benny’s just said and he whirls to Cas, wide-eyed. “Wait, you? And _him_?”

Cas staggers backward, cornered. “It was-“

“You about to say it was nothing?” Benny’s voice has lost its bite, faded to something hoarser. “You _use_ me and of course it means nothing to you. What gives you the right to say what you can throw away?”

Dean knows there are pieces he’s still missing from this puzzle, something just below the surface he’s not grasping that will make all the pieces fit, but he’s beginning to see the picture and it’s the strangest notion he’s thought of in a long time. He laughs incredulously, devoid of anger if only because the idea is too ridiculous to be considered.

“Wait, so you’re leaving because you’re, what, pissed Cas dumped you?” Dean asks, laughing still because he can’t believe a word coming out of his mouth.

Benny glares at him. “Well, Cas, you sure do get around,” he says, turning back to his friend, who looks as though he’s about to fall at Dean’s feet and grovel or some shit and he hates that expression so he turns back, laugh a little more hysterical as he addresses Benny again because _this isn’t happening_. His life is not a fucking soap opera. “Just you and me, then, Benny. One more side to the triangle and then we’ll all be one happy, fucked up family. Come on,” he says, opening his arms wide, “I’m offering.”

Benny punches him in the jaw. Dean staggers from the impact, with barely time to catch his breath before it’s Benny shoving him up against a tree, leaning in and-

_Oh_. Ok, then. That was probably a stupid thing to say if he couldn’t put out the goods in the end. And suddenly Benny’s gone and all he can do is blink stupidly, his mouth buzzing with the force of the kiss he’d never seen coming in a million years.

He searches around and finds Benny on the ground, pinned down by Cas and _fuck_ , that sight is not- he doesn’t think about it.

“Don’t you _dare…_ ” Cas’s voice is shaking. “I won’t let you hurt him.”

“Never wanted to hurt him,” says Benny roughly. “Never wanted to hurt you either, angel. That was all you. That wasn’t me,” he implores, and Dean’s got no clue which of the three he’s trying to convince.

They all stay still for a moment. Benny, eyes shining as he looks up at Cas, who stares right back, uncomprehending, and Dean, who can’t do anything but hold his breath and lick his lips and wonder who’ll make the first move.

Cas never ceases to surprise him. His eyes flood with understanding and Dean watches as he leans down to press a chaste kiss to Benny’s lips, tentative, questioning. Benny moans low and wounded, only hesitating a moment before tugging Castiel down and deepening the kiss, and Dean’s brain is a little blown.

He wonders if he should give the two some privacy, and something in his chest aches at the thought that maybe he was just a replacement for something Cas had lost, that this was what he was craving and Dean was just nearby. It would explain a lot. Would match up with his life perfectly, actually. Always convenient, until people realize there are greater things out there, that he’s a shoddy comparison to what they’re missing.

His gut twists up and he turns to go, half sick at the thought.

“Wait!”

Two voices in unison call out at him and he turns back. Cas and Benny are standing now, and their hands aren’t entwined but Dean fancies they’re doing it metaphysically somehow because they just reek of that sort of ‘connected’ bullshit and he hates the jealousy that courses through his veins.

“Come on, brother.” Benny smiles, a little drunk. “More than enough room for you in this circle.”

 His feet propel him forward, scarcely daring to believe that this is happening. He ducks his head, embarrassed at the ache in his jaw, ashamed that he wants it this badly, like he needs the touch.

And then Benny’s lips are on his forehead, chapped but gentle, and Cas’s hand is running down the small of his back, drawing circles on his hip, pulling him closer. There are hands everywhere, and mouths begging for friction, and bright eyes and soft, contented smiles and it’s new and familiar all at once, and he thinks he could get used to this, and he thinks, _why not before now?_

And he thinks, _this is how it’s supposed to be_.

He grins, and tugs Cas towards him, and feels Benny’s arms circle his waist and his breath hot against his shoulder, and for a moment he stops thinking, and _feels_.

\------------------

Cas trails his hand down Benny’s bare chest, fingernails catching in the wiry hair and dragging a gasp out of the man.

“Leave ‘im alone, Cas, I need _sleep_ ,” Dean whines from his other side and pulls him tight against his body. They slot together perfectly. Benny moves closer to press a soft kiss to his mouth before dropping his head down to the ground, exhausted, and slinging an arm around Cas’s middle. His knuckles rest against Dean’s stomach.

Cas doesn’t look up at the sky anymore and pray for a star to guide him. He doesn’t seek heaven in its gray depths. He holds Benny’s face in his mind a moment before closing his eyes. He sighs, and feels Dean shift behind him.

Even heaven, with its penchant for symmetry and holy numbers, would have to admit they fit well together, the three of them.

If they weren’t meant for this, then why were they made so well for it?

Though sleep is unnecessary, _rest_ is something Cas always underestimated the value of. He lets himself drift away.

With a friend and a lover on both sides, he’s never felt so warm.


End file.
